My media blitz had a variety of effects, but the most important thing was that people kept talking about it. I made a handful of longwinded statements, at one point on a late-night comedy show telling Axle to remember that while he had been my operations manager, I was still the affiliate’s head during its most dramatic successes. I called his public record into question, producing more data as my campaign worked to unearth it.
Much of the donations we received went to purchasing data, and I was assured it was an extremely normal thing for a political campaign to do. Information costs were expected to run up to sixty-percent of a campaign’s total finances.
I shook my head at the broken system and played my part. Making the rounds anytime Axle’s campaign released a statement became the norm for me. While his campaign shrank in popularity by dint of sheer exposure for him, the press rabidly hunted for any clip that could be scandalous enough to bring in ratings. Their sense of loyalty to power only went so far. Ratings were morties, and nobody ignored morties.
As a result, the conflict on Terna’s World began to receive more exposure. Her rebellion was difficult for the media to handle, and BlueCleave’s oppressive actions began to steal the spotlight in the public discourse.
My campaign tended to follow a pattern with its own scandals. We would laugh them off, explain them away succinctly, and then go around on smaller shows to redirect the media cycle back to Axle’s problems. It rapidly became cyclical. People were predictable, in large enough groups.
Saying just the right things, at just the right time was a skillset. When applied correctly, that skillset began to alter perception on a multiversal scale. Suddenly, Silken Sands had flaws, and those flaws were becoming the focus of Nu-Earth’s media bubble more and more as I pushed.
I never went too far, I never crossed the lines of basic civility when refuting Axle’s statements about me, but I said pretentious things. Things that were designed to keep the media cycle going and continue the rise in perception my campaign was receiving. The goal was not necessarily to inform the voting public, although that was part of it. We primarily had to win this election, by brute force if nothing else, and it was working.
We were experiencing a robust rise in the polls, as Axle’s once solid footing on the race began to chip and flake away. He lost numbers one by one at first, then in larger and larger chunks as I made his statements about me sound like the absurd ramblings of a tired and out-of-touch old Knowle.
I used the many active wars in the multiverse against him. I brought them to the forefront of Nu-Earth’s collective mind and kept them there to show off how ugly Axle’s reign had truly been. He struggled to convince the public that I was the dangerous radical he portrayed, because I didn’t act that way and my primary interest aside from the campaign was my girlfriend’s heartwarming non-profit. Save the Cubes was still selling. Views per day had risen into the hundreds of millions, and the documentary was starting to reach other universes in the system.
The affiliate’s fan base grew on Nu-Earth, Terna’s World, as well as the Venus magma-kelp barges, Mars Terraforming Cartel, Luna, and the Saturn mining stations. Each was smaller in population than the former, but it began to add up. Once it reached Saturn, an overlooked aspect of the market would help its spread to other universes—proximity.
Once people near the BuyMort gate were watching it, they were more likely to spread the word through the gate. A news story about a BlueCleave customs officer made the rounds. The hobb woman was enthusiastically endorsing my campaign and recommending to every ship she scanned and directed to watch the documentary.
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The block that mattered the most was my precious Nu-Earth middle class. Millionaires who could easily afford housing and basic necessities, but often felt unprivileged compared to their betters in the higher income brackets. They were production workers for the most part. Nu-Earth had become the multiverse’s hub for spacecraft sales. That industry alone was enough to produce a voting block, but many other smaller industries complemented the planet’s primary export.
There were those less fortunate than the millionaires, and those much more fortunate. The higher up the income bracket one went, the smaller the population became, and the more niche their interests.
I had celebrities come out for and against me, representing those niches.
A hard-drinking rockstar who had grown up in a privileged trillionaire community professed to speak for the working man while being one of the wealthiest musicians on the North American continent.
Before the thought could settle, I was bombarded with a mental ad from NuConfluence, the multiverse’s leading service for connecting campaigns to high-profile influencers.
"Need a boost in public perception? Let NuConfluence align your campaign with the perfect celebrity endorsement. Whether it's a rockstar for the everyman or a pop icon with global appeal, we've got the star power to elevate your message. Packages start at just 500,000 morties!"
The ad played out, showing a montage of various influencers shaking hands with political candidates, posing with campaign merch, and performing at rallies. The images were interspersed with staggering polls showing dramatic upticks in support.
The final image was a smiling celebrity standing next to a holographic crowd of cheering voters, the caption reading: "With NuConfluence, you're always one endorsement away from victory."
I swiped the ad away with a thought and refocused on my campaign strategy.
Another celebrity, someone who acted in popular films, told the rockstar that he was a weirdo on a comedy podcast, and the pop culture war sparked from there. While it was amusing to watch celebrity affiliate heads and wealthy cultural icons argue and bicker, I instructed my campaign to ignore it and decline comment on any explosive statements from either side.
We were professional, after all. Strategic, intelligent, and focused. All the qualities one should want in their governing financial body. Our campaign was above such discord, even if I did frequent the same shows and field questions about the statements. I was statesmanlike, often parroting my campaign’s official responses and refusing to elaborate. The shows that pushed me too hard didn’t receive return bookings.
I let them sit and wonder for a week at a time before returning to ensure their audiences had my personal perspectives on all major public disagreements in mind.
As I campaigned, nearly a month passed at breakneck speed. My routine was established, and I sunk into it eagerly.
When I could, I actively spent time with Shoshanna. The relationship grew from its origins, and my feelings for the woman grew alongside. It was no longer a political arrangement for me, I started having strong feelings for the socialite in spite of myself.
At the end of our first month of campaigning, the Cult of Eternal Darkness struck again. I had been collaborating with Justin Lee on Midnight, and his entire affiliate was dedicated to hunting the cult down and removing them as a threat. His actions had been swift, and direct. His affiliate ultimately controlled their associates' finances, so the cult’s funds had been drained and its access to affiliate benefits revoked. Justin also put bounties on all known cult members, which increased pressure on the relatively small organization. They were put on the back foot, in spite of having primarily drained their associate accounts before their first attack. The loss of benefits meant transportation and income were significantly more difficult.
A small bomb was mailed to my campaign building, and several staff were killed, including my campaign manager and head of security. The Cult was declared responsible, and my second major scandal began.